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Brad figured he was probably 12. It was after his Mother had passed, and after Mister Cantrell moved across the street. OK, likely it was the summer of 1972. Mr. Cantrell owned 40 acres about 70 miles north of town_down a gravel road, through a stock gate, and then onto a narrow path to a large natural clearing in the middle of oaks and hickory. A small year_round stream ran down the west edge of the clearing. On it sat a camper Cantrell had built on an old school bus. "Camping", even in a wood paneled mobile cabin, was a new deal for Brad. His father was dressed far rougher than he'd ever seen him - battered chinos, a denim shirt, boondocker boots, and thick heavy wool socks. Mr. Cantrell was mirror image - jeans with the knees worn out, a khaki military shirt, and lace-up Red Wings. They got there, and a half hour later, Brad was running around in a pair of grey gym shorts, and last year's gym shoes. He realized he wasn't wearing socks, and felt a twinge of guilt. His mother had had a phobia about blisters, and was convinced socks were the only barrier between filthy shoes, and a plague of hideous infected blisters. Mr. Cantrell broke out the fishing gear, and he and his father sat on the bank, casting out. Brad was shocked to see his father drinking a beer, and smoking a cigar. His father snagged the line, and reached deep into the side pocket. He pulled out a big yellow knife Brad had never seen before. He did some twisty hand manipulation, levered the knife somehow against the seam of his pants, and had it open with one hand. Brad had no idea it could be done. He cut the line in a deft motion, folded the knife back against the seem of his leg, and it was back in the pants pocket. He attended to tying a lure and bobber back on the line. Brad wandered down, and noticed Mr Cantrell wore two knives. One was a sheath knife, the other a tool knife hanging from a leather fob on the same belt. That afternoon at the fire, Brad asked his father about the knife. He was allowed to look at it. It had a long clip blade, and a funny blade with ratchety looking things, a bottle opener, and a notch in the end. A little sharpening stone looking thing was set in the handle. "Son, I was just out of basic. I was 19, at I was stationed in Texas. Musta been December 1957. I wasn't used to the warm weather in the winter. Anyway, I got a 4 day pass for New Year's, and me and a couple of guys in my squad all wanted to go fishing. This fellow named Stafford had family, and they had a cabin about an hour away. Since I had this big Buick, I could haul everyone and the gear. They'd pay for the gas, the 3 other guys would." "Well, the Sergeant was good about letting the guys keep fishing gear around the barracks, since he fished. But I was a new guy, and no gear. So we stopped at this big store, it was a drug store actually, but they sold camping and fishing gear, too." "So I stopped off and bought some stuff for the trip. Bamboo pole, Zebco reel, this fishing knife. We had a great time, the grandparents had a pile of beer at the cabin, and there were enough fish to keep us hoping." "Anyway, this one was better than what I had, so I gave my old pocketknife to this fellow named Grey who was even newer than me. He stayed in, and I heard he was killed in Viet Nam." His father showed him a trick on how he left a piece of matchstick in the knife, and the tip of the blade stuck up a little. The trade_off against the fact you could cut yourself if you weren't careful, was the fact you could push the tip into a pants seam, and use it to lever open the blade. The other blade had a bottle opener, a scaler and a notch that mysteriously could remove fish hooks without killing the fish. Mr Cantrell showed him his knives. The first one was a handmade sheath knife made by a man in Ohio. The handle unscrewed, and in it was some matches, snakebite gear, and a needle with thread. The second was an all steel affair, which he called a "Scout Knife". It carried a blade, a spike, a can opener, and a tool with both a bottle opener and a screwdriver. He carried it on a leather hanger off his pants belt. Mr. Cantrell and his father were both drinking beers. They were talking loudly, laughing a lot, and both seemed to be in really good moods. Mr Cantrell reached into his shirt pocket, pulled a cigar, and reached into his back pocket. A small orange colored knife came out and it was open before Brad noticed. Mister Cantrell showed it to him, and showed him how you could push a button on the side of the handle, and it would open itself. "Wow, that's kinda like a switchblade" Brad gasped. In a low conspiratorial tone, Cantrell told him "It IS a switchblade." He paused. "These aren't really something you're supposed to have, so I only use it out here". Brad wanted a knife really bad. The next morning, when they went into town, his father walked out of the hardware store with a brand new Ka_Bar scout knife, and handed it to Brad... |
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